My Blog List

Followers

I felt very, very small. I sat down in the closet as he yelled from the living room. Beginning to cry, all I could mutter was, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . . " It was all I had left.

Walking into the living room, nearly crawling, head hung as low as I could get it without falling forward, I lay my head at his feet and repeated, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . . " It was all I could offer.

He immediately reached for me, and told me to sit beside him on the couch. Doing as I was told, I kept my head low, showing him with all that I had that I was as non-confrontational as possible. He was so gentle; I was so small.

It doesn't matter how this all came to be. Just that perhaps this is the best place for me. At least for now.

After reading countless blog posts, never have I understood the purpose of humiliation in the D/s relationship. I understand the feelings it brings, but I never knew why that would be necessary. When I feel submissive, it seems that it is usually by choice.

These last few months I've pushed S to discuss emotional issues more than he is accustomed to doing. I wanted to discuss each hurt feeling as it came up, so as to work out any issues and get them behind us, before coming to haunt us later. I wanted a clean slate, perfect canvas, to display my love for him.

While realizing how painful this was for him to be scrutinized so often, I believed I was doing the right thing, for both of us. I assumed this was some sort of housecleaning, and we would both grow from this.

Today, after one of these discussions had occurred before bed last night, we were gently talking about how he felt. He shared that often I say little things, or do little things, that hurt his feelings, but he just assumes I never meant to hurt him, and let's those things slide by. He understood that I'm not that sort of person, and he asked me to just be more gentle and loving when I find such fault in him.

Then came the reality of how wrong I've been.

I realized in a momentary rush that I had been so arrogant in thinking that my way was the only way. I had been trying to eliminate future issues by "managing" his behavior. So terrified that I would let something go that would somehow come back to hurt me, as I had done in my failed marriage, I had been pushing, instead of being understanding.

Humiliation filled me. I was awash with guilt, shame, and dismay. I couldn't look S in the eye, and felt so unworthy of his forgiveness, love, and touch. He reached for me in spite of my flaws, and wanted to comfort me.

Then came the connection between us. Passion consumed us both, and I threw myself open for him. Gently, firmly, he took me, and made love to me, while I whimpered "I'm so sorry," over and over. When he finished, I asked him if I could cum for him.

He sucked one breast and squeezed my nipple on the other. I rubbed my clit furiously, feeling the humiliation wash over me and submitting to him in a way I had never done before. The climax was cleansing for me and the best gift I could give to him. I wanted so much to bare myself completely, to submit, to relent, to bow down and give him all I had inside willingly. I had nothing to hide behind; no intelligence, no clothing, no arrogance, no virtue, no piety, no righteousness.

He held me as my body shuttered and shook from the orgasm, enjoying the gift I had presented to him in my humiliation. Through his grace, I have found the ability to bare my soul to him, and still be forgiven.

On one of the first mornings sleeping with S in my bed, I had a dream shortly before waking. I had dreamed of walking with S on a beach along the Pacific, hand in hand. He pulled his hand away, turned into a seagull, and began to fly. I stood locked on the shore and watched him glide about freely. He flew back to me.

"Why aren't you flying with me?" he asked.

"I can't fly," I replied sadly.

"Yes you can. Stretch out your arms and fly with me."

He seemed so certain, and I trusted him so, that I did as he said. I reached out my arms, turned my face upwards, and suddenly I was a seagull and began to fly.

We gleefully flew up and down the coast, side by side, occasionally touching our wingtips. Then, after some time, we flew over the ocean together, into the sun.

I think of that dream often, and how I awoke, telling him of the dream, sobbing in his arms. He held me close, and seemed to be quietly understanding everything I was trying so hard to explain.

During those first few months together I often told S that I had his hand, and I was pulling him to the other side to our future together. He was so stuck in his relationship with his needy wife, tied down by obligation, commitment and promises made from insecurity. He wanted to fulfill his duty, his vow, and somehow retain a shred of honor to his word he had given at such a young age, so many years ago.

I told him to hang onto his wives hand, and that I had his hand, and that I had the strength, determination, and sheer will to pull us all through this to the other side. The side where our lives go on, and we all find peace with this decision that he and I had made to be together.

His divorce will be final soon. His wife will be taken care of financially for the rest of her life, and compared to most divorced women, she has been one of the very, very lucky ones. Every need has been addressed, and the only thing she has lost is her caretaker and friend. But even she has found peace with this decision, and is finding comfort in a life of her own.

Now S and I have our life together, and we are ready to leave the coastline and soar out over the ocean.

My father once told me of his marriage to my step-mother that the secret to staying happy in a relationship is that you can't both go crazy at the same time.

Perhaps there are times when S takes the lead, and I must trust him, and simply follow direction when I am stuck in the sand of my limited understanding. Then there are times when he must be able to rely on my strength, and allow me to carry him to a place of peace.

He's very good at knowing which direction to head. I'm very good at getting us there.

The balance of power has settled, and it seems to lie evenly between us. At least for now. Neither dominant nor submissive, we both seem to be peaceful, relaxed, and joyful with this new horizon. The quarreling has subsided, and understanding has grown. Understanding of one another, and of ourselves.

For the most part, I don't feel dominant at all these days. My concern is that the dominance in me sparked my aggression, and anger, and fueled many of our arguments. I became demanding, intolerant, and petulant. S became frustrated and felt unloved. I came to loathe myself, unable to understand my behavior from moment to moment. Feeling lost and needy almost all of the time, I found that being the Domme was not necessarily the same as calling all of the shots. When I wanted love and affection, I demanded it. S became reluctant to give what was being forced from him.

My old issues of mistrust, fear, hurt, and disillusionment haunted me nightly. They hung about me all day, nagging at my heart, shielding me from the comfort of a loving relationship. I became suspicious, and found myself questioning all that I had once easily accepted as truth about S. He had given me no reason to doubt him; the doubt lurked in the darkness of my old fears, and peeked out when I least expected it.

If anything now I feel submissive again. But not often. Just when I see a disagreement on the horizon. If I hear the tone in his voice of anger, displeasure or frustration, I immediately submit, fearing a confrontation. Almost always it was my doing in the first place, the misunderstanding. S is wonderful in that he won't pursue an argument if I retreat. He steps back just as quickly, and it seems we both race to apologize first. Neither one of us wants the misery of the arguing, nor the fear of losing one another.

I can't imagine life without him now. If I am submitting to anything, it is my fear that I will drive him away.

It burns like a freight train raging along the tracks, coming from my groin, out through my risen chest, my upturned face, pouring out of my mouth agape, and through my fingers, up to heaven, or God, or whomever calls this passion from me. Upon his hips, my legs wrapped around his thighs, my back arched, his cock buried into my soul, I gasp as the force of his willingness and worship flood me on the way to the angels. His arms reach over his head, his hands grasp the headboard, his hips rise to meet my sucking, starving, voracious pussy, while his sweet eyes watch my inferno.

With a thunder, it all slams back into me, from heaven and beyond, the force and the fierceness, and I cum with a squeezing, piercing scream through my entire body. The tornado rips through my lungs, my head slaps back, as whimpers and cries emanate from my dry throat.

When I see his eyes, I know he is mine. I know he was designed, built, and born to bring me to this state, over and over again. I didn't see him one day and decide I wanted him to be mine; he was mine to own from the moment he was born. He belongs to me. I am his desire, his destiny, his Dom.

I am a girl with special needs. And to be frank about it, I am god-damned sick and tired of feeling bad about that. I have the need for attention, affection, and, dare I say, adoration. If I am going to participate in a relationship then it had better be worth my time. Love and affection are not two things that are negotiable. Perhaps my love quotient is higher than other women and my need for affection is greater than your last woman. I'm tired of being ashamed of that, and tired of being labeled as somehow flawed because of that.

My lover needs to meet my needs. Period. If he can't, or won't, then I don't want to be in half of a relationship. Been there, done that. I demand, yes DEMAND, a certain amount of attention, affection and respect. No one could ever say I don't give it back tenfold. In a relationship I am very giving, attentive, responsive, and considerate. Certainly I am not perfect, but I give 100% effort. Perhaps that's been my problem, being the aggressive perfectionist I am. Perhaps I expect others to give the same effort that I give.

Nevertheless, give it all, or give it up. In life, be a leader, be a follower, or get out of my way.

Submit: 1. To yield or surrender (oneself) to the will or authority of another. 2. To subject to a condition or process. 3. To commit (something) to the consideration or judgment of another.

Succumb: 1. To submit to an overpowering force or yield to an overwhelming desire; give up or give in. 2. To die.

When I felt down his relaxed belly to his groin and found his penis limp, I became aroused. His beautiful, firm body now lay relaxed in my arms, his face pressed into my bosom, seemingly ready to be taken. I pushed his hip gently to reveal his cock to me, and began rubbing firmly the mound around the cock, being careful to avoid the cock itself. His cock must wait.

After a few moments, and realizing through his open posture that he was giving in to me, I grasped his cock. As I suspected, it was hard, smooth and ready for attention. Now his entire body was limp, except for his cock.

I positioned him and then rode him hard, kissing his sweet face, telling him how he was mine. I showered him with praise and kisses and power, and he consumed all I had to give.

"Succumb to me, give yourself to me. Now, doesn't that feel good? Don't you love to give in to me?"

"Yes," he muttered weakly, "Yes. . ."

He told me he was nearing orgasm, in a pleading way. Giving my permission, I demanded he give his cum to me. He did happily.

To submit to my fierce power is one thing, and I have found some pleasure in that. To succumb to his own need to be touched, taken and controlled by me is far more pleasurable. I did not need to cause him pain, nor punish, nor make him feel guilty. All things can be accomplished through love.

The way I see it, this is what he already wants for himself. I am just the vehicle with which he finds that freedom. I clear the path, show the way, give the nudge, lead him along, to get him to the place where he already sought to be. He is not submitting to me; he is succumbing to his own desires.

Lost in the ebb and flow of the ever-changing landscape of our relationship, S sometimes becomes flustered when he speaks. I answer to all three names, Mommy, Tina, and Mistress Tina, with the same demeanor, as in my mind, they are all equally interchangeable. While in this frame of reference, I am the Dom, he is the Sub. Period.

He needs me. He needs my love, my guidance, my strength, my certainty, my comfort. And I need him. I need his tenderness, his innocence, his sweetness, his purity of purpose, his simplicity. He is so incredibly precious to me, in every way, that I love him with an undeniably deep love; so much so it shocks me sometimes. I look at him now, working at his computer, nude, deep in thought, ready to jump to meet my needs at anytime, and I just want to kiss him. I think I shall.

After rising from my seat to kiss him sweetly on the lips, he responds with affection, then turns back to his monitor, and continues to work. His mind is far away, developing a project, building his company, working. I have learned the importance of giving him space to be himself, to grow as a man, to come into his own. Nothing means more to me than the look of pleasure and satisfaction on his face when he has achieved something for himself.

He is my friend, my business partner, my lover, my cohort, my companion, my boyfriend, my confidant, and my Sweet Boy. Our life together encompasses so many aspects, all blurred into one place and time, that to try to divide and define would be impossible. I love the ebb and flow, the give and take, the metamorphosis of it all.

What I know is true, throughout it all, is that we love one another. We adapt, grow, change, learn, expand, all together. Staying open to the changes is sometimes hard, but worth every sunrise beside him.

When I saw the red welt began to rise from his right ass cheek, I felt sick to my stomach. I knew then that this had taken a wrong turn somewhere.

I had S purchase the crop for me earlier that evening. We had then gone out with friends, and while out, S had done something to irritate me. I told him it was time to go home, and as soon as I had him home, we discussed what had happened. We resolved our issue, but apparently, I was still harboring some aggression. When we started our sexual encounter, the tone was sensitive and loving. Before long, I felt my aggression beginning to rise. I had him bent over, taking my strap-on cock in his ass (which he enjoys), and I reached for the crop.

SMACK!

"Don't you know that I'm in charge?"

He whimpered agreement.

SMACK!

"I don't want you to argue with me anymore. Understand?"

". . . yes, Mommy. . . " he whimpered.

The welt began to rise, as did the vomit in my stomach. I had promised to never hurt him. This is not who I am. This is not what I wanted. I let the power go to my head.

I has since spoken to S about this. He had obliged my indulgence obediently. He is nothing if not obedient. Filled with shame, I told him how awful I felt, and that I would never use the crop again. He didn't say a word.

My goal is to dominate with strength, to train with love, to influence with kindness, to meet his emotional needs of comfort, security, and belonging. Fear doesn't fit in there; nor does pain.

I've heard it said, "It's lonely at the top." I realize how true this is. Now that I have found my soulmate, when he is disengaged, or passive, looking for leadership, and not being my touchstone, the feeling of isolation for me can be overwhelming.

We just returned from a 10-day, 6 state, 2500+ mile road trip. We visited some of his family, and he took me to some places I've never traveled. He paid for it all; treated me to fine hotels and delicious meals. Somewhere along the road we defined our relationship to an even greater level, and our last stop was to a bondage store, 300 miles from home. I picked up items I would need to bring him to full submission and placed them on the counter. Then I let him pay.

After driving 700 miles in one day, we arrived home. I made him a nice dinner, he had a drink, and I took charge. Using every item we purchased, and some that had once been purchased for use on me, the transition is complete.

This morning he is passive, quiet (even quieter than usual), and has this longing in his eyes for acceptance, approval, and love. After each interaction throughout the night I cuddled, praised and reassured him. Being the submissive once, I know the importance of this, and the emotional reward it brings.

It is my strength he was attracted to all along. It is my strength that sexually dominates him, emotionally feeds him, and mentally retrains him. My hope is that I have enough to sustain us both. The feelings of loneliness are looming, but I'm sure temporary. Reward is just around the corner; for us both.

It is now that I know my place, who I am in this relationship, who I have always been, all of my life. As a natural caretaker, a nurturer, a mothering type, to find myself in a loving, giving, honest relationship in which I take a leadership role seems the perfect fit.

Submission has given way to dominance. Dominance has grown to submission. Courage has paved the way for truth to rise to the surface, and our true selves have shone through.

I have not assumed a submissive role with S for a few weeks. Not only does he submit to me sexually, but emotionally as well. He has found a place in his heart, and life, where he trusts. He trusts me. And being the one who spent so much time submitting, I realize what that means.

I would never harm him. Nor would I allow anyone else to harm him. I love him so deeply. He is my Sweet Boy. I will cherish him always.

"Should I climb on top of him? Is that what he wants? To submit? Or is he looking for his equal? Or maybe, just maybe, he's watching to see what I'm going to do."

We lie in bed, stroking, kissing, touching. As his head bows just a touch, I see my opportunity.

Quickly, I move to my knees, grab his hip, roll him in his back and begin sucking his cock. He moans with pleasure. His arms extend out to his sides. He is submitting. Soon I will be riding him, my palms pressed hard into his chest, and I will demand he declare his devotion to me.

It seems I lie in wait, like a spider, anticipating my moment to pounce and dominate.

In our day to day lives, he calls the shots. He may not always choose where we eat dinner, or what appointments we attend for work (we work together at his business), but he always, always ultimately chooses what HE does. He offers me options in life, but never makes choices for me. But if I want to be with him, spend time with him, I usually let him take the lead.

This is so comfortable for me. I love his confidence, his vision, and his brilliant mind. He is a born leader, while being very tender, soft spoken, and unassuming. People always look to S to take the lead, and he naturally does.

What he needed, what he loves, what he craves, he has found, is a woman who can take the lead and knows when to do so. What he needed was me.

For most of my life, I assumed dominance walked hand in hand with fear. I realize now that this type of dominance, while it does exist, is not what I was seeking, nor am I interested in exploring this lifestyle any longer. What I want is a man who is truly stronger, and doesn't need to keep reminding me of if. S is that man; strong as an oak, quiet as the wind, as certain as the sky. He doesn't need to prove it to me, to others, or to himself, because he knows.

When S moved into his own apartment, I came to help for a few days, and get him all set up. 7 weeks later, I've yet to leave for any extended period of time. Even when he went on a trip, I remained at the apartment, simply because it was easier with all of my toiletries and clothes I needed already here.

Tentatively, one day recently I asked, "Where do you see me as living?"
"Here, with me," S replied dryly.

"Are you good with that?" I worried.

"I have no feeling about that. It's just fine. It's good. Didn't you know you live with me?" he asked, sweetly.

Apparently, I did not. I didn't know we had made that transition. It was so subtle, so natural, so easy, I never noticed. I had been afraid to ask, afraid to wonder, afraid to approach. It didn't need to be analyzed, discusses, hashed-out, and weighed. It was just natural.

For my entire adult life, I've been afraid of men. Drawn to strong men, like my father, but angry, violent men came in and out of my life, beating on me along the way. The fear I had been instilled with plagued my vision of who I was, who I wanted and how I saw the entire world.

With S, I don't need to walk on eggshells. I can say anything, ask anything, be anything. No harm will come. I'm trying to let that sink in, and see the world in a new way.

S has been on a 3-day motorcycle camping trip with his friend. I had little notice that he was going and while gone, his phone was off for two days. I'm waiting in his apartment rather impatiently to see him.

I long to wrap my arms around him, hold him, kiss his sweet face, feel his body against mine, and look into his soulful eyes. Having ridden hundreds of miles over the last three days, I'm certain he will be exhausted. I will make him a meal if he is hungry; anything he likes. While he was gone, I cleaned the apartment, washed his sheets and towels, did all of his laundry, did our office work for him, and didn't bother him.

A couple of hours ago I fixed my hair, sprayed on perfume, touched up my makeup and put on a pretty dress. For him, I want to look my best.

Impatiently, I await the sound of the engine pulling into the garage. . .

While S was suckling my breast, I realized we had crossed over into new territory, once again. His right hand cradled my right breast, his left hand was buried in my pussy, and he sucked with great enthusiasm.

"Are you my Sweet Boy? Do you love me? Yes, you are such a good boy! Do you want to make me cum?"

He greedily sucked even harder, rubbed my clit harder, and whimpered in agreement. I threw him on his back, began riding his cock, and he cried out his delight. Words poured from his typically reticent lips, words of comfort, security and devotion. I encouraged this behavior, and rewarded him with my orgasms, and kisses to his sweet, sweet face.

Afterwards I cuddled him against my bosom, loving and nurturing him, holding him tight until he was ready to break away and move into his regular role as my equal again. No words were spoken about the encounter, but I felt our love had moved to an even deeper level. Throughout the following days, S allowed me to take on an even greater nurturing role in his life.

As a mother of a grown child, this was a natural position for me. I never breast fed my daughter, but I have heard it said that when a mother breast feeds there are certain hormones released in the brain that help create a bond between mother and child. Perhaps this is the incredibly deep bond I feel with S now. Regardless of what the definition is, I feel very protective and loving in regards to S, and I would do anything, anything to care for him.

Having lost 55 lbs has been incredibly life changing for me. I still have a few pounds to lose, but I feel far more attractive, for the most part.

S finds me more sexy than I find myself. Recently, while browding through a clothing store, I held up a short, tight, black skirt. I knew he would like it, even though I hadn't worn anything so sexy in many years. He smiled slightly and encouraged me to purchase it.

The next evening we were headed out for drinks with friends. I donned the skirt, pantiless, of course, with sexy black heels. He smiled slightly with pleasure.

"Do I look ok?" I inquired.

"You look good," he replied with very little enthusiasm. But s says only what he means. Enthusiasm is not his strong suit, so if he says it, I trust he means it and try not to read between the lines.

My friends all commented on how hot I looked, as I tried to fight the insecurity inside. At the mirror in the Ladies Room two ladies also commented.

"You look so hot!" they both said.

Breaking out is hard, probably for everyone. Owning my sexuality is new and exciting, and S has helped me achieve that by requiring me to try. He never requires I do, only try.

I realized, while mounted on top of S, as he moaned with ecstasy, that control had shifted. I grabbed his hair, and while ferociously riding his cock, informed him that he was mine. He whimpered agreement. I took it a step further, asking him if we was My Sweet Boy. Again, with a whimper, he repeated, "Yes, yes, yes. . . "

We've been transitioning to and fro for a few weeks now, each of us from dominant to submissive, and back again. I have a difficult time knowing when the shift occurrs, as it is always S who initiates it. Most of the time he is dominant. He still sets the pace, keeps control, and let's me know how he's feeling. But I wait patiently for my opportunities to engulf him and make him mine. In those interludes his only purpose is to please me, which he does with great passion and humility.

Another facet has also entered our lives: equality. Somewhere in the swing between dom & sub lies this middleground. For the most part, in our day to day of sharing his apartment, we are equals. We work, play, dine, vacation, talk, love, and grow together as equals. But what I realize is that we both have our strong suits, and our weaknesses. There are times when I need his enormous strength, guidance, and wisdom and times he needs my tenacious fortitude and nurturing kindness.

Perhaps the roles have not changed at all. Perhaps the relationship has simply developed more roles.

S has been staying with me for just a few days since he left his wife, until his apartment is ready for move in. I was struck by the use of the word "home" as he has only been here a few days and he isn't moving in permenantly, just visiting.

S has used "home" to refer to where he belongs. Being home for him implies this is where he is comfotable, accepted and peaceful. I was flattered that he felt this way in my home. I would do anything to accomodate him and help him through this transition.

After holding me tight and kissing me for a bit, he pulled back and looked into my eyes, relaxed and tired after a long day motorcycling with his buddies. I realized in that moment that it was not my house to which he was referring, but my embrace. In my embrace he had found his home.

As I have stated, I am a powerful woman. I recognize that I am strong; strong willed, determined, and intelligent. I can use those strengths, and have for many years, to further myself in life. I have also taken the backseat when I felt beaten down by life, and let the road drive away with me. I became tired of the backseat recently, and began this D/s relationship with S, leaving my husband, abandoning most of what I know and believe to explore who I am, or should I say, who ELSE I am.

Being submissive is not something I've ever been able to escape from, because it lingers in my spirit. I deeply believe in the concept of service. So how was I to reconcile this strong, aggressive personality with the belief I hold so true in being a submissive woman? Bottle it up? Bullshit. Wouldn't that just be betraying myself in another way? No, I don't think S wants to be with me to watch me minimize who I am. Nor do I wish to do so for him, or anyone else, ever again.

Last night, while riding my Dom's cock, it all became so clear to me. He loves my strength, my will, my determination, my intestinal fortitude, my drive, my passion, my power, my intellect, my skills of persuasion and manipulation. These are the very traits that attracted him to me. So I looked into his beautiful brown, soulful eyes, and realized he wanted me to be who I am. So how can the two things coexist inside of me?

While riding him, loving him, opening up to him and declaring my devotion to him, the words poured out from my soul and made it all so clear. I wasn't thinking; I was only feeling. Going forward, everything I am, everything I have, everything I do, will all be for his benefit. I will work for him, protect him, love him, comfort him, fight for him, die for him. If anyone were to try to harm him, they would have to kill me first, else I aptly destroy them. My life is now devoted to bringing to S everything I would ever want for myself. My commitment is to better his life, in every way I possibly can.

One major factor in this decision is to improve my own life, to grow as a person, to be all that I can be, so I have not only something for myself, but even more to offer my Dom.

If you are reading this right now, regardless of who you are, if you are not my Dom, I don't trust you. S is the only living, breathing person I trust. Not because he is my Dom and has trained me to trust only him. Quite the contrary! Before him, I trusted no one. He is my Dom because he made it into my heart, and earned my trust. Only he can dominate me because only he has earned my trust, and only he can master me. If a person cannot be trusted, then they cannot know me, really know me. To know the true me, the person I hide deep inside, is a privilege no one has ever had before.

When I say S knows me, well the truth is, he knows only what I've shared. Certainly he hasn't heard all of my stories, nor my whole life story. He doesn't need to, nor is that even realistic. What he knows is how my mind works, what is in my heart, my joys, my fears, my hopes, my beliefs. He knows my desires and my needs, oft times better than I know myself. He knows this because I have opened up and shared with him with complete abandon, showing him all of me, naked from the inside out.
In my lifetime I have been raped twice, beaten by numerous men, defiled in a drunken state from time to time, and been lied to countless times. I've been robbed, held at gun point, and abandoned. I've been manipulated, coerced, and tricked. Why the fuck would I trust anyone? And why would I trust a man? I would rather eat you alive, rip out your heart and watch you lie upon the ground, gasping for your last breath, with fear in your eyes. Trust a man? And why would I even want to trust? Why?

All of those questions I can't really answer, but this one thing I hold true. I know I need to trust, and I need to be dominated. I needed to find a real man to meet these needs, and now I have. S is worthy of my trust, worthy of my praise, worthy of my devotion. I have found with him a peace I had never known. Perhaps one day I will understand "why" better, but for now I am content with just knowing I do.

Trust used to be a four-letter word for me. Now, it has saved my soul.

I had already been bent over and teased, licked, sucked and fucked hard in my dress and heels, cumming repeatedly which had weakened my knees to near collapse. Clutching the ottoman near the front door, begging to be on my back, S decided when it was time. He pulled me up by the shoulders with his very gentle touch, and breathed out the word, "Go." I ran up the stairs to the bedroom.

Reaching the bedroom breathless, I flipped on the bathroom light, and stood beside the bed, facing away from the door, trembling. For some reason, the adrenaline, anticipation, and arousal had culminated in a panicked fear. My mind raced so that I couldn't make sense of the feeling. S slowly ascended the stairs, moving up behind me stealthily. Ever so quietly, yet assertively, he commanded, "Remove my boots."

Spinning around and dropping to my knees, I could feel the deep breaths taking over my body, nearly bringing me to convulsions. My hands trembled and my mind reeled so that it took total concentration to get the motorcycle boots untied. I remembered the hundreds of days as a very little girl, greeting my father at the door in the evenings, and rushing to his chair with him. He would say, "Remove my boots," and I would gleefully do so. Now, on my knees before my Dom, I removed his boots with care, love, and submission. Feeling truly blessed to be the one graced with the honor of bowing before him and serving him in this manner, knowing the reward that lied ahead, I salivated to please him.

When Daddy would ask me to remove his motorcycle boots, I knew I would soon be in his lap and getting a cuddle. I often fell asleep in Daddy's arms, missing family dinner, dreaming as long as he would hold me. Some mornings I awoke still in his loving arms, pleased to be his darling baby girl.

When S tells me to remove his boots, I know what lies ahead as well. A grown woman's fantasy come true, a night of orgasm after orgasm, cuddles, intimacy, confessions, insight, and submission; submitting to my deepest desires, sexually, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

His boots and socks removed, I look up and see his soulful, deep brown, loving eyes, and I know that I am blessed to be dominated by the only man who is man enough to tame me. The first man to touch my soul was Daddy, but the man who owns my soul is S, for I have given it to him, gleefully.

I am a Beauty Queen. At age 45, I have been nominated and crowned by our local Chamber of Commerce as Ms. City Chamber. My Dom S, who is also my employer, and I live a very public life in our small city, and this brings about a great deal of visibility for us. In public we are cautious, as S still lives with his wife whom he is seperating from currently. No one knows we have a private life together.

Last night S attended the Crowning Ceremony and we went out to dinner with many of the Chamber members and representatives. As soon as I was done eating I paid my bill and said goodnight to everyone, to drive home and wait for S. He arrived shortly therefter.

Still donning my evening gown, crown, and sash, I opened the door. In moments I was in his arms and he was looking at me intently, surveying me. Because I represent his company in the community and because I want to make him proud, I did all I could to look my best. With his first tender kiss, my public smile melted and every bit of decorum disappeared. Instantly I was a heaving, sighing, groaning, lust-filled woman who needed penetration, and he knew it.

After reaching up my skirts and finding me willing, he firmly touched my shoulders and directed me to the bedroom. He said, "My shoes," and I dropped to my knees and began undressing him. Shoes, socks, unbutton the shirt, belt, pants, pull off the briefs, and there was my goal. On my knees, with crown, sash, and gown, I began devouring him.

He began speaking. S is a quiet man, but he was unusually verbal last evening. "You need that cock, don't you Ms. City Chamber, don't you? All prim and proper, elegant ant glaomorous, but it really comes down to this, doesn't it? How much you need my cock." With every word, I only needed him more, as he knew. He always knows what I need.

The next few hours were bliss, with my Dom taking this Beauty Queen in every manner that suited him. I spent a great deal of time with my skirts flipped over my head, writhing in ecstasy.

There were a few moments, during the Crowning Ceremony while I was onstage looking out to the audience. As I did, I sought out and only saw S, and he looked at me and smiled. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than his smile; nothing. When he smiled at me again beneath me, in me, in my bed, my soul opened up. He told me how beautiful I was, how graceful and elegant. Covered in the skirts of my evening gown, he lay there letting me make love to him, as he spoke to my heart. But it was his smile that spoke to my soul. For to please him, my deepest desire.

He stood in my kitchen, on an early morning visit. S is always quiet, but in the mornings, even more so. He was not there to be intimate, but to support me as my soon-to-be-ex-husband moved the last of his things out of my garage and gave me his keys. We waited in the kitchen, barely speaking, and I was understandably tense. This would be the last time, most likely, seeing my husband of 13 years, and I did not want confrontation.

The Ex knows that S and I are partners in a business together; that's it. It would not be out of the ordinary to have S at the house, and I truly wanted some moral support this morning. So S and I stood in the kitchen, waiting, as The Ex was very late. When The Ex texted and said 30 more minutes before he arrived, I was able to relax a bit.

I was chattering from the nervousness, and S seemed quite unaffected. I reached to kiss him, and he stood back, aloof. When S pulls back, I become confused. What did I do wrong? Why doesn't he want me now? My mind reels.

A few moments later, in complete silence, S slowly reached his right hand out towards me and with the tips of two fingers, grasped the edge of my waist, pulling me in ever so gently towards him. He gazed into my eyes with incredible intent and placed his mouth over mine, ever so softly. He breathed in my breath, and wrapped his other hand around my waist, pulling me in tight. Suddenly, he was deep in my mouth, probing me with his tongue, and his right hand was on the back of my head. Becoming intensely aware that I was completely in his grasp, and I could not free myself, even if I wanted to, I felt panic rush over me, and then, release. With his tongue in my mouth, his hands grasping me, and his very presence in my soul, I began to cum, over and over. My legs weakened below me, but S held me so tightly that my heaving body simply dangled in his arms, all the while, with his tongue still searching my mouth for it's prize.

This went on for some time, but I could never say how long. In his arms time stands still. Euphoria consumed me like the sun upon the land on a cloudless day. Warm, inescapable, and restoring, his presence intoxicates me.

I recently read on another Sub's blog about having safe words. In fact, I read about this subject quite often. So I have evaluated the need for set of safe words.

As of now, S and I don't have any designated safe words. The truth is, when I was married to my husband, I had a safe word that I used to remind him that he was frightening me with his horrible temper. It rarely worked, and often gave him power over me to frighten me more. This was not a healthy relationship in any way, nor was it designed to be a D/s relationship.

But with S, I have truly never felt unsafe. Actually, I have never felt safer! I know he has my best interests at heart, and he would never, ever harm me. He just isn't that kind of man. We have discussed the inflicting of pain, and neither one of us are interested in that type of relationship. That, coupled with the enormous trust I have in my loving Dom, presents an opportunity to truly place myself in his hands, completely. This has freed my spirit to soar, and to be natural and open with him about everything. I make every attempt to overcome my own baggage and tell him everything as it arises in my mind, thus helping me to understand myself better daily.

I truly understand the need for safe words in the D/s relationship, as all relationships are not the same. But for me, now, I don't want a safe word.

I am a writer, and words are my craft. Having spent my life loving words has taught me the power of every word that is written and spoken. My wish now is that my words are free, to carry the message of my spirit out to the world, with no need for a place to hide ever again. In the arms of my Dom, I am safe; so I needn't be hidden by a word.

Last evening, S and I went to a concert together. He had been busy all weekend, and was really tired. The concert was in a very relaxed setting, and the music very mellow. At one point I looked over, and my sweet Dom was so sleepy. For the next hour, every time I looked over at him, his eyes were closed and he was leaning on me, nearly dozing off. I decided that we should leave at intermission, because I felt like this concert I drug him to was boring for him, and I felt guilty keeping him up when he was so tired. It was a long ride home, and even though I was driving, he was still being inconvenienced. I simply want to meet his needs.

My mistake was trying to think for him, and I gently insisted we leave. When he said no, I didn't leave well enough alone. I thought I knew better.

Truly, I am a very fortunate Sub. Because on the way home, when S expressed his displeasure with my insistence, he was gentle with me. It is far more important that to him that I understand why I need to submit, rather than just mindlessly submitting. S loves that I am strong, independent, and intelligent, and counts on those aspects of my personality in many ways. But a submissive woman knows she cannot attempt in anyway to overpower or out-think her Dom; this is unacceptable in every instance.

When I realized how I had behaved, I felt the rush of shame wash over me. I literally felt cold throughout my body and the pang of fear clutched my stomach like an iron fist. A cold sweat broke out over my trembling body and I could barely speak. Clutching the wheel, I drove towards home, barely able to watch the road, and completely unable to look at S in the passenger seat. I thought of the ride to the concert, the way we laughed and joked, the way we touched each other and stimulated one another sexually as we flew up the highway. Now in the dark car, maneuvering through the traffic, all I could feel was deep disgrace.

No physical punishment awaited me; S knew my shame is genuine and that is punishment enough. When he asked me if I wanted to continue this relationship, tears welled up in my eyes. He then asked, "Who is making the decisions here? Is it me, or is it you?" I could barely breathe the answer, "You. . ." and choke back my self disgust. He gently took my hand, and reiterated how much he cared, how he wanted me to be myself, and if this wasn't going to work for me, that he would make the necessary adjustments. I begged him to not give up on me, with the few words I could speak, and promised that my desire to serve was sincere and that I would try harder.

Saying goodbye in my driveway, and not knowing when I would see him again, I longed for him to stay, to comfort me and ease me through my shame. He did not, for many reasons, but he directed me to not dwell on the subject. It was done, and if I had learned my lesson, then it was behind us. I promised to not dwell, and gathered up all of my strength and walked in the door to my home.

I cried myself to sleep, ashamed, and heartbroken. Waking this morning, I faced the day with a renewed determination to better serve this wonderful man whom I love so dearly.

One thing that I truly love about my relationship with S is the enormous freedom that comes with it. He rarely asks me how I spent my day, and most often we just email. S is still living with his wife, who knows he's leaving, but isn't fully clear about his relationship with me. She knows I work for him, that we spend a great deal of time together, and that he is leaving. She suspects I am involved, but that is all. At this point, S is making endroads to move out into his own place. But once that is done, I greatly suspect my level of freedom still will not change.

S enjoys freedom more than any person I've ever known. He relishes it, savors it and craves it. Actually, his dominance is really just a reflection of that freedom. He wants me to submit my body for his pleasure, so he is free to do anything he likes to me, with no objection. He wants to be free to probe, lick, fuck, and physically manipulate me at his will. My pleasure is a byproduct of his desire to fulfill himself. And one thing he finds fulfilling is making me cum, over and over and over, at will.

Once we became involved, he helped me see how little freedom I had in my life, and encouraged me to seek it out for myself. Now I live alone, own my home, work for him, set my own schedule, and do what I please. He is the only person I answer to, and really, not all that often. I answer to him mostly about work issues, and rarely on my personal life. But if he calls, I drop everything for a chance to see him. And he knows this.

Being with S is a choice for me. Pleasing him is something I choose to do. I WANT to please him, I am not obligated to do so. I do not set out to please him because I am afraid of him if I do not. I want to bring him pleasure because I love to see him pleased! His smile, his approval, his touch are my greatest rewards! One thing I can do to please him is to please myself. I do not believe domination walks hand in hand with obligation. Either of us could walk away at any moment. It is a choice to be together, not a requirement.

A lover of freedom abhors management of any type. Management is enslaving not just to the individual being managed, but the manager to the same degree. So management is something S and I try to avoid at all costs. Accountability, maturity, ownership, responsibility, and honesty are all crucial to make this work. Fortunately, we are both adults, and willing to adhere to these principals. So truly the only managing S does is in regards to my diet, and even then, he just sets guidelines. It is up to me to adhere to those guidelines.

As a fully capable woman free to make her own choices in life, I want to please my loving Dom. Nothing else in life gives me greater pleasure than to hear him groan my name with ecstasy and tell me, "You're a good girl Sweetie."

My beautiful Dom and I have spoken some of photography. One evening not long ago we were in a bar and he took a couple of photos of me. For one, in particular, he pushed my head gently down on the table, exposed the back of my neck, and got just the right angle. I look as if I'm sleeping in the photo because I am so relaxed. The truth is that when his hands are guiding me, I am in total peace.

As of now, I only own a lovely red suede collar and chain leash, but at some point I would like more restraints. Ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, a blindfold, and even perhaps a gag all excite me so. S is always so gentle when he does anything to me, even collaring me. But he is firm, very firm, and understands my need to be restrained, and enjoys restraining me. Recently he took me out to a bar collared and leashed. This was by no means the norm for this establishment, but for hours he led me about. It was thrilling. I do so love being owned by him.

Last night I dreamt of S taking submissive photos of me. Fully restrained, completely owned, stretched out ready to be violated. Sometimes I don't understand my own desires. This is one of those times. It is all so new; why would I want this? But I do. Oh so badly, I do!

When one takes my photo, they own a piece of me for a lifetime. They've captured me, my attention, my thought, my emotion, all for a moment as I gaze into their lense. For a group of photos to be taken in which I am outrightly owned by another, to the point of restraints, in which I am gazing out with pleasure and contentment, well what could be more beautiful?

S loves to pleasure me. He loves to make me writhe in ecstasy, moan with pleasure, cry out and cum good, long and hard. My pleasure is his reward. This makes me a very, very fortunate woman.

But my approval is not a part of this equation. S often pushes me beyond anything I would do, just for his pleasure. As he always knows me better than I know myself, he knows difference between my true limits and my self imposed limits that he wants to shatter. This is why trust is so crucial in our relationship. I must trust, implicitly, that he is taking care of everything for me, has my best interests in mind, and would never put me in jeopardy.

Every time I am with S, he brings me incredible pleasure. He takes complete charge of our time together, and I don't even suggest plans to him, unless he asks. Being completely in his hands always pays off for me, so every moment with him only builds my trust in him, reestablishing that my Dom is truly meant for me.

To me, there is something so erotic about the mouth. What goes in my mouth is just as vital as what comes out of my mouth. If my Dom's cock is in my mouth, if he cums in my mouth, and I find this deeply erotic, shouldn't everything that goes in my mouth matter? If my words are the words of a submissive woman, shouldn't all of my words matter, whether I am in his presence or not?

My mouth is a sexual, sensual, and accountable place. So what I put in my mouth affects my entire body, and that body belongs to S. So shouldn't he be making the choices of what goes in?

When we are together, he decides every bite I eat and every drop I drink. He orders my food and drinks in restaurants. I don't even look at the menus anymore. I have no opinion, as I know he knows what is best for me. He is so kind, he often asks me if I like items before he orders them, but he doesn't really need to. He just does it to be kind. He also feeds me in public, pushing the food deeply and gently into my mouth, just because he chooses to do so. It doesn't matter that I love it; he would do it regardless, for his own pleasure.

When I am not with him, I have a list of foods from which to choose, and I abide by that list religiously. There is no reason for me to stray, ever. He has taken care of all of my needs.

My mouth is his home, for his mouth, his tongue, his cock, his fingers, his hands, words of kindness for him, words of love for him, words of praise for him, cries of passion that he creates in me, and sobs of pleasure.

Last night, as I was forced to the floor after being stripped by S, he pushed me gently but firmly flat on my belly. He grabbed my hips, pulled them into a position that suited him, and plunged his hard cock into me, thrusting over and over, pulling the orgasms from my soul. I cried loudly with pleasure and was overcome with passion, wailing with the feeling of being completely overwrought.

Fucking me hard, grasping my hips, this normally very, very quiet man yelled at the top of his lungs, "Cry, Goddammit, Cry!!!" I had the deepest, hardest, most wrenching orgasm of my life.

Throughout the day today, I've thought of this moment from time to time. My panties are soaked, have been soaked all day, and will remain soaked as long as I relive this incredible moment.

After an incredibly fun date last night, when walking back to the car in a busy nightclub district in a neighboring city to ours, S spoke to me of fucking me in public. I knew his wish was to tear my clothing off, right on the sidewalk, with cars passing by, and to lay me on the sidewalk and fuck me, right there, right then. I also know that he is likely to do anything he desires, so if I submit, I must be mentally prepared to follow through. Of course, I would never, ever say no, and he knows this, so he assumes that responsibility quite seriously.

By the time we were 5 feet from the car, when I thought we may make it out of there clothed, he grabbed me and pulled me in to kiss. I love, love, love being kissed by S, so much so that I often cum just from being kissed. We kissed, standing in this parking lot, with club-goers passing by, as he partially undressed me and groped me unrelentingly. I came twice, just from the thrill, the passion and the intensity of it all. He was driven, and I was submissive, because I wanted nothing more than to please him and be pleasured by him.

In the car, as I drove home doing 90 mph, I massaged his gorgeous cock through his jeans and sang to him. After just a few minutes, he began undressing and was completely nude long before we got off of the highway. I drove carefully but briskly, so we did not get pulled over and he was not arrested. I realize that there was little chance of that, but I would never put my Dom in jeopardy. Part of my duty to him is to protect him, and I would protect him with my life.

When we arrived at the house, he walked into my home nude, and looked so beautiful doing so. I don't know if any of my neighbors saw, and I don't care. They mean nothing, and he means everything. Never would I inhibit his wishes for another.

After being fucked for hours, my Dom directed me to walk out to my car nude, while he moved is bike from my garage, and for me to move my car into the garage. I would do anything for him, and I take great pleasure in pleasing him. I did so with my head held high, strolling to my car with pride. I would do anything he ever asked.

If there is one thing I have learned in my 45 years of life, it is self discipline. If there is anything my loving, beautiful Dom has learned in his 45 years of life, is that he does not have any desire to manage anyone. This is another example of why he and I are a good fit.

My gorgeous Dom has instituted a diet and exercise regime for me. This came about when I complained about being a size 18, and expressed my great desire to look better. He heard the words, but he looked into my heart, and knew that I meant it. These were not just the whines of a woman who wanted to gripe about, but not solve, her weight problem. This was a plea for help.

S looked into my eyes and asked for a commitment from me. For me, once that commitment was made, there would be no bickering, no negotiating, no bargaining, no pouting. He didn't set these parameters down for me, I set them for myself. This is obedience to me. Do as I am told, without question, even in my mind. If he says it, I do it. Period.

Occasionally I will receive an email with instructions about my diet. He has broken me of at least 10 foods and drinks that I was addicted to. I had no idea I was addicted, but as always, he knows me far better than I know myself. This is why I love him so. He knows me, what I need, what I am capable of, and how to propel me in the best direction.

S simply emails me, and does not follow up. If I make an error in my food choices, he informs me that I have faulted, and it never, ever happens again. For example, I sent him a photo of buffalo wings and ranch dipping sauce. I believed I had made a good choice, so I was proud to show him how well I was following instruction. He reminded me that all fat filled condiments were on the list of forbidden foods, and that meant ranch dip. I nearly broke down crying at the table with my unsuspecting girlfriends, and begged his forgiveness. I had the sauce removed from the table immediately, and apologized to him profusely.

Two weeks later, I forgot, truly forgot, once again, and had ranch on my salad. When it hit me what I had done, I texted him, confessed, and apologized profusely. I was forgiven because he knew I did truly forget, was truly sorry, and because I confessed so rapidly and openly. He informed me that I need to disassociate myself from ranch so this doesn't happen again. We have not discussed it again, and I know that it will never happen again. His approval means everything to me; absolutely everything. To let him down broke my heart. But being dishonest was simply not an option for me.

Had I not confessed, he would not have known. But my obedience is MY responsibility, not his. If managing my behavior his burden, how is that pleasurable for him? Isn't it my job to make his life more pleasurable, more fulfilling, more joyful? My obedience is the best gift I can give to my darling Dom, who has been so very, very good to me. I want to give him the best of what I have to offer.

In about 6 weeks, I have dropped down to a size 14, close to a 12. I want to be completely beautiful and healthy for my Dom, because he deserves no less.

Asking for permission is new for me. Because S owns my body, he has instituted a diet and exercise regime for me that has already had great results. Being very educated on how the body works, what foods are best for me, and how to exercise properly, S has me on a rather strict diet and I work out with him at a Fitness Bootcamp three days a week, where they thoroughly kick my ass. On only 3 occasions have I violated the food guidelines, and never out of defiance; always out of lack of thought.

So if I'm out, or grocery shopping, I must get permission on certain foods if we have not discussed them. I love seeking permission, and relish his input. The decision is often not the thrill for me; I will do just as he says. It is the relinquishing of power that thrills me, and how willing I am to conform rather than be defiant. In Bootcamp I push myself as hard as possible because I want to provide for him the best body I can. This is his property, afterall.

Occasionally, in the heat of passion, I ask for permission to cum. Because I cum so often and so quickly, it is nearly impossible to ask everytime. But if I can feel it on the horizon, I ask permission. He orders me to cum, to CUM NOW, and my body explodes at his command. He has called me, instructed me to rub my clit, and demanded I cum and I do, right then, right there.

I never knew how thrilling it could be to be penetrated by a man. Oh, I've had plenty of intercourse, but never the type of penetration to which I am referring. I mean penetration, of my heart, my mind, my soul, as well as my body.

Not long after our first sexual interlude, S and I were kissing deeply. He then pulled away a bit, and began reaching his fingers in my mouth. Not to be sucked, but to probe me. He felt each of my teeth, one at a time, and touched every part of the inside of my mouth. He looked in my mouth, and pushed his fingers deep inside. I came almost instantly, and I couldn't figure out why. Later, I asked him why he did that, and he said, "Because I own you, and I wanted to."

Being probed for his pleasure excites me beyond all reason. I happen to be a very lucky woman, one of only 5% of the women in the world, who has high numbers of multiple orgasms. I have over 25 or 30 during a 5 hour span with S. My orgasms are deeply intense, and occasionally I almost stop breathing. I can orgasm by a touch to my skin, a bite on my neck, or with his arms wrapped around me while he whispers in my ear. S is my perfect match, because for me, penetrating my mind and bringing about an orgasm is just as good as penetrating my pussy.

But being on top of him, feeling that gorgeous cock deeply inside of me, staring into his eyes, and rocking back and forth brings the best orgasms. He is not just penetrating my body at this point, but he looks into my soul, and masters it. The incredible weakness I feel inside of me when I am in his grasp, on his cock, with him in my soul, is the best feeling I have ever known.

In submission, I am free. I no longer have to think, no longer have to control, myself or anyone else. There are no decisions to make, as they are all being made for me. My entire being has been handed over, and I can escape my mind, that never seems to shut off, and allow my Dom to choose everything for me. He determines how he wants to use my body for his pleasure, where to put his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and I willingly submit.

In this, he has penetrated far more than my body, or mind, he has penetrated my soul.

I come from a long line of dominant, hard-headed bitches. My Great Grandmother ruled the roost with an iron fist, sending my Great Grandfather running with just the howl of his name. My Grandmother and Mother have both preyed on weaker men, except for one of their 4 husbands each. I believe they both are attracted to stronger men, but their dominant side made staying married to a dominant male impossible. Both settled on very weak men for long term partners. My sister and niece married absolute wimps, and my sister abuses her husband on a regular basis. Even my one and only child, my daughter, has hooked up with a long term boyfriend who has zero backbone.

To be submissive in a family where female submission is deeply frowned upon has caused great dismay in my family. When I serve my partner food, the other women attack me in the kitchen, trying to pry the plate out of my hand and tell me not to do it. When my sister's husband asked to be served like my husband, my sister slapped him, right there in front of God and everyone. Then she slapped me. I gladly handed the plate to my husband, and smiled. In my family setting, one must actually be defiant to be submissive.

My dom, who loves to email me, recently wrote this in an email:

You're submissive and dominant at the same time. It seems you want to besubmissive, need to be submissive, enough so that you demand it. Perhapsyou're consuming weaker men until you find one that you can't dominateyourself.

I am sure this comes as a contradiction for some, but this is entirely true. I believe the only way to determine if a man is "truly dominant" is to push him to his limits, and see who wins.

S is so powerful, in mind, body and spirit, that he never wavers. No matter what I impress upon him, if this is different than his desire, I relent. Period. He is kind enough to listen, until he has heard enough. He then informs me that we are done discussing, and I willingly conceded. This is me pushing, and him dominating.

I have never understood how a man could feel good about dominating a weak woman. That's like going to the fair and riding the carousel, and leaving. Why not try something with a bit of a challenge? Perhaps those men know their limitations. I certainly know their limitations. I also know that S is steadfast, and no matter what I do, he holds the power.

This unwavering dominance wets my panties at the sight of him. I see him from across a parking lot, and if he has a smile of pleasure on his face, my panties become soaked! If he is frowning, my heart drops, and I rush to him to see if I've displeased him, and how I can fix it. My greatest desire is to please him. My greatest reward is being pleasured by him.

When I was in my late twenties, and separated from my Starter Husband, I met Joe. Joe was interesting, so I wanted to get to know him more. He invited me to lunch at his home after a few dates, and I gladly attended. After lunch, as I was washing the dishes for him, he crept up behind me and grabbed me by the throat. He then tenderly kissed my neck. I was excited by this, and confused as to my own excitement. A week later in his home, when we were getting a bit intimate, he began beating me as he tried to rape me. He pummeled my face, bloodied my nose, tore out chunks of my hair, and I eventually escaped. He was arrested and I never saw him again. It took a week to see out of my bruised, swollen eyes, months for my hair to grow back, but I will never forget.

This was not my first beating, but it was my last. The only other man who tried to brutalize me after this incident ended up with a gash in his head that required 13 stitches to repair, and was also arrested. In the time since this occurred, I had learned how to protect myself. I have no interest in being brutalized; it holds no sexual arousal for me in the slightest.

I am interested in My Dom because he out-thinks me. He knows my thoughts, reads my behaviors, feels my desires, and uses them to please me, and himself. He sees my need to be led, even though I am fiercely strong, and gently guides me. This, to me, is dominance. Any moronic Neanderthal can brutalize a woman, if he is physically stronger. And any man who thinks he can brutalize me may get away with it in the moment, but I will spend the rest of my days seeking vengeance until I am satisfied. My Dom is sweet, insightful, and fully aware of the power he wields over me, and uses it properly. He has a purpose when he is with me, and he has a mission. He is in charge, and he is man enough to lead. I am woman enough to follow.

A year after Joe attacked me, he had his legs broken and to this day, walks with a cane. The only cost to me was a few crocodile tears to the right person, who handled the entire situation for me. If a man cannot dominate me, I will dominate him. For me, there is no middle. He is either man enough to dominate, and I am free to be the woman I was meant to be and submit, or I will do all of the dominating.

We had made plans to meet at my home, having blocked out an entire afternoon together. We both knew what we were planning, but I had no idea what I was in for.

Once we were in the bedroom, and clothing removed, I was astounded at the beauty of his nude body. Lean, strong and toned, his form was the most pleasant thing I had ever seen. His skin the color of beautiful beach sand, smooth and soft to the touch of my fingertips. Usually, I am quite shy about my appearance, as I have been overweight for sometime. I was frightened he would be unhappy with what he saw, but instead, he was pleased. His pleasure made me heave with desire, as he stroked my skin and plunged his tongue deep inside my mouth.

The entire five hours is a blur of orgasm after orgasm, with his cock deep inside of me and his tongue and fingers plunging in every opening, probing and searching. He penetrated me everywhere, at will, and I so willingly relented I shocked myself. The delight was excruciating! When he grabbed my legs, thrust them over my head, and plowed his face into my pussy, I couldn't catch my breath. I squealed with pleasure, over and over, gasping for air between orgasms. I wanted more and more, to be taken, to be licked, to be penetrated, to submit to my own ecstasy.

He knew what I needed, even when I did not. He knew what would please me, even though he didn't do it for that reason. He took my entire body for his own pleasure. He probed me, penetrated me, fucked me, licked me, made me cum repeatedly, all for his own pleasure. I was his orchestra, and he was writing the symphony. Every note I hit in my cries, every moan that emanated from my throat, every gasp for air, all made the music to his ears. I was the instrument, he, he was the composer and musician.

To be pleasured in such a way was entirely new for me. I found that once one walks into the Promise Land, there is no way to ever leave it willingly. Now I am enslaved by my own desires. To see his smile, to know I have pleased him somehow, to comfort him, support him, protect him, be owned by him, to relent to him, to be directed by him, to be trained by him, to work for him, to be broken down and rebuilt by him, to be touched by him, both physically, emotionally, and spiritually, these things all make up the purpose of my being. This is all I crave, all I desire. This is where I belong.

I once was a woman who fought everyone and everything. A wild horse that was unbreakable. I could not find what I had sought my whole life, because I didn't know what it was. Traveling down wrong road after wrong road, I came to nothing but dead ends. Until I met him. To be broken was my greatest desire. I could not break until I could trust. His tenderness, his charity, his kindness all taught me to trust. His dominance then broke me. I have never been happier.

I have spent my life dating and being married to men who have strong personalities. Oh, I dated a few weak men, but not for long. Breaking them and taking their money was too easy. One man I was engaged to was worth over $2 million when I met him in my early twenties. When I kicked him out just over a year later, he had less than $10,000 in the bank, he whimpered and begged when I told him it was over, and he was a very broken man.

The realization that I was deeply attracted to strong men was not new to me; it was the difficulty in finding one who didn't want to extinguish my fire inside. Both of my husbands were drawn to me as a moth to the flame, but their own lack of composure filled them with fear, and thus, they lost control. Many strong men are attracted to strong women, but they believe they must break them. I was out to prove I could not be broken. I played their game to suit my own purposes, because I knew I was not only smarter, but stronger. Stronger in my soul.

I was married to Husband #2 for 13 years at the time I met S. Compelled to get to know S, to please him, to just be near him and soak up the radiance of his presence, I worked hard at the position he hired me to do. I confessed, to my chagrin, my feelings for him, more than once. He rebuked me, and made clear that he was not interested in me. S called me one Saturday, in response to an email I had sent in which I had confessed my devotion to him. When S spoke the words of rejection over the phone, as I sat next to Husband #2 watching television, I had to leave the room. The tears began to flow, and I found it impossible to reconcile my life. How had I come to this; needing the approval and affection of S, when I am married to another?

A couple of months later, over a business lunch, the ice broke. Our conversation turned more personal, and I reveled in the thought that he may truly be attracted to me. Days later, he came to my home when I was alone, working, at my request. He touched my skin for the first time in an embrace. We both trembled with emotion. The power in the connection was so great, so forceful, that when we looked into one another's eyes, we knew this would change everything.

I decided the next day to divorce Husband #2, and began to plan my course. Once S had shown me that he wished to be close to me, even if only for a short time, I knew he was the only person that I wanted to touch me. Husband #2 cried, begged, pleaded and negotiated, and every word, every gesture, fell on a heart of stone. Anything I ever felt for him dried up and blew away years before when I realized he not only didn't have control of me, but of himself. He was out of the house less than 5 days later.

The realization for me in all of this was not just that S is my Soulmate, which is what I initially thought.

I have always been quite the talker. I became a writer because I love the power of words, and because I have so much to express. My Dom, S, is very quiet most times. Most people who see us in a business setting say we are a good fit. I usually respond with, "He's the brains and I'm the show!" That always fetches a chuckle.

Selling advertising on his websites for him, I work full time for S. He affords me the opportunities to write as well, because he knows that is my dream. There is an old phrase, "I can sell ice to eskimos" that I strive to apply to my position. As an honest, helpful and hard working salesman, I feel good about what I do. But few people know why I do it.

The only goal I have is to please my Dom. I work for him to make money for him by selling a product I believe in wholeheartedly, all just to earn his praise. Money is a necessary evil. I don't work for money; I work for S. That's it. His praise, his benefit, his pleasure.

Now, I have dedicated my life entirely to him. He owns me. As a good salesman in a small market, I am approached often by other businesses to sell for them. All of these people praise me for being vibrant, exciting to watch, enthusiastic, joyful and so convincing and passionate. They all seem to understand my loyalty to S, even without being told. Because of this, they ask me to "add on" their product when I see my clients. My response is always the same. "S owns me, so you will have to work it out with him. If he wants me to do it, he will tell me. But I only work for him."

I gladly served myself up to him and I am deeply honored he has chosen to own me. No matter what else occurs going forward, he owns my soul.

When he walked into the coffee shop for the first time, I felt his electricity. Within 5 minutes of meeting him, after exchanging very few emails over a 2 1/2 year period, I confessed my attraction for him. This would have been fine except for three important points.
1. I was married.
2. He was married.
3. This was a meeting to discuss employment, not anything personal.
Yet I found myself compelled to sit as close as I could get and feel his electricity. S is very quiet, as most everyone who has met him will attest to. He thinks about everything that is said, and evaluates it, before responding. On this day of our first meeting I hung on his every word as if I were hanging on a cliff about to plunge to my death.
I am a writer. I wanted to expand my experience base in writing, so in 2008 I approached a local blogger via email to ask if I could blog on his site about our very small city. A short, succinct email was my reply, outlining very little. Writing for the blog for a year, I received no response. After the one year period, I emailed S again asking if he was pleased with my work. He simply replied yes, and thanks. I wrote another year on just that praise.
The pattern was set before I laid eyes upon him, and before he laid hands upon me.

As our relationship has unfolded, I found that submission is not what truly lie inside me. I found that dominance was my calling. I possess this great desire to find love, compassion, acceptance and kindness as a dominant woman, who knows what a man wants and needs. No longer am I angry, hateful and sinister in my desires. Now I long to love and nurture my sweet little boy, S.

Originally, entering into the arms of a dominant male, I submitted myself physically and psychologically, and explored a world where I had longed to be. To be instructed by another, to have decisions made for me, to become one's property, where my purpose is to please, and put all my trust in someone else, is what seemed to satisfy my soul. A soul that wants to submit.

Then something changed. . .

I am not a weak person. My strength had manifested through my desire to submit, having spent my life looking for men who could master me, but never finding one. I'd master them instead, preying upon their weaknesses and insecurities until I consumed all they had to offer, then sending them on their way.